Loam
carried into the yard
in burlap sacks.
The old brushy pile of fill
in the backyard
hidden
under the earth that’s being spread
over it.
In a moment
(perhaps a year or two)
all of us who know what’s under there
will be gone.
A new tenant
will plant a garden
there, where we never
would have considered
planting anything.
Flowers, herbs,
vegetables — something
useful, productive,
lovely.
Who will care, then,
about what we thought?
Dark Matter 
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